


Terpsichore's Boy

by wrenchwench



Category: Cats (1998), Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Cats - Fandom, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Gen, Mr. Mistoffelees is Quaxo (Cats), Quaxo and Victoria are siblings, Quaxo origin story?, listen i just. i just need to indulge myself okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenchwench/pseuds/wrenchwench
Summary: Separated from his family, lost in the labyrinthine streets of London, Quaxo finds a mentor. He insists that Quaxo needs his protection from the vicious clan of cats who call London their home, but is that really the truth?
Relationships: Quaxo & Macavity, Quaxo & The Jellicles, Quaxo & Victoria
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Prologue

The garden that the kitten’s mother had chosen to have her family in was quite small. The walls were tall, covered in moss and lichen, with ivy spilling over from next door, and the whole place was concrete, with only a few weeds sticking up here and there in the cracks. There was, however, an abundance of flowers; flowers in pots, in hangers, even an old bathtub hosted a riotous spill of fuchsias and begonias.    
  
The flowers smelled so sweet that they perfumed the garden even at night, when the kitten and his sister were allowed outside by their mother to play. They ran wild through the little garden, tumbling and rolling along the hard concrete, paying little mind to their bruises, their mother watching indulgently from up on the wall as they practised their talents.

The human who kept the garden (and, presumably, lived in the little house that it backed onto) would sometimes put out food. As soon as the kittens heard the rattle of the knob, they skittered away into the little pocket of space beneath the crumbling wall, urged by their mother to stay away from human hands as best they could.

“They may feed you,” she said, “but not touch you, nor get close. Humans are all too often duplicitous. They’ll act like they don’t mind you there, and then all of a sudden they’ll steal you away. So don’t go out in the garden when there’s a human there, understand? It’s not safe. As long as they’re inside, away from you, you’re free to go where you will.”

So that day, when the human went back inside after leaving the food behind, the kitten’s sister and mother eagerly went to eat. The little kitten however, trailed behind, watching a snail. It was for this reason, and this reason only, that he was not in the cage when it snapped shut.

The kitten’s sister and mother cried out in startlement, then in terror, as the back door opened, flooding the dark garden with yellow light. Two humans stepped out. One of them lifted the box, steadying it as the two cats inside rocked it wildly. The other moved towards the cowering kitten on the ground.

“Run!” called the kitten’s mother. “Run! You must get away from them!”

The human was so close now. The kitten’s heart was beating so fast he thought he might burst. Then, just as one huge warm hand closed around his scruff, the kitten

vanished

and reappeared, staticky and breathing hard, on top of the wall. The human exclaimed something loudly, but the kitten could only hear the sobs of his sister as she was carried inside, and his mother’s fading voice as she urged him to run.

Quaxo ran.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning dawned grey and drizzly. Shivering, Quaxo drank from a puddle, sides heaving. He’d been running off and on through the night, startling at every loud sound, unable to sleep. His legs were wobbly and his belly was empty and he couldn’t stop wishing that he’d been caught up by the humans as well. 

“I wish-” he whispered, swallowing, “I wish my mama was here.” He closed his eyes and pushed hard with his talent, harder than he’d ever pushed before, harder even than he’d pushed in his fear when the human had touched him. He’d never vanished like that before. If he could vanish, could he make his mother and sister vanish from where they were and reappear beside him? Surely he could?

Something nudged his nose, and he opened his eyes, hope surging, heart pounding-

He was met with a tin can floating before him. To his left, a glass bottle suddenly hit the floor, shattering, and a newspaper slapped against the wall before fluttering away. The tin can clattered away down the alley as his heart fell. 

“Useless,” he said, numbly. “Useless.”

“On the contrary,” came a voice from above. Quaxo jerked upright, stumbling backwards until he pressed against the wall. Involuntarily he felt his back arch in fear, wet fur doing it’s best to fluff up in threat. The stranger landed neatly in front of him, and Quaxo hissed, baring his teeth.

“You are a very talented young cat,” said the stranger, getting closer. Quaxo’s hind legs were trembling with fear and exhaustion, and he hoped that he wouldn’t collapse. “I’m sorry, I know that you must be frightened. Come now, I’m not here to cause you harm. Let me help you. You must be hungry. Where is your mother?”

Quaxo leaned more heavily against the wall, eyes seemingly transfixed on the oddly smooth way the cat seemed to be approaching him, criss-crossing steps causing his head and body to sway gently, almost hypnotically.

“She-” Quaxo started, then stopped, feeling like his throat was stoppered by his heart. He swallowed his fear as best he could, and said in a rush, “A human took her.”

“Ah,” said the cat, now closer than ever, close enough to touch, close enough that Quaxo could almost feel the heat coming off of his sinewy body. “Yes, humans will do things like that. Poor thing. And what will you do now?”

“I-” said Quaxo, wishing that he had enough energy to run, or the will and concentration to vanish like he had the previous night, “I don’t know, sir.”

“Well,” said the cat, now close enough that Quaxo could feel his breath. “How fortuitous for me, then. And how fortuitous for you.”

“Sir?” said Quaxo.

“You will be my apprentice,” said the cat. “And I will teach you magic.”

“Magic, sir?” said Quaxo, almost breathless.

“Yes, child. It is, in fact,  _ very _ fortuitous for you. After all, not everyone gets to hone their talents under someone as great as I.”

The ginger cat turned away, and with nothing else left, Quaxo followed him.


	3. Chapter 3

Quaxo’s paws were aching badly by the time they arrived at the house. The streets around it were quiet, even more so that those surrounding Quaxo’s old home, and the whole place smelled of smoke. His ears were flat to his head as they turned in to the gate and made their way up to the front door.

“Um,” he said quietly, “what about the humans, sir?”

The ginger cat barely threw him a glance.

“There are none here,” he said, jumping up onto the windowsill and shouldering aside a flimsy piece of wood that covered it. “There was a fire.”

“A fire? Is it safe?”

The cat laughed.

“Oh yes. The fire was… unfortunate, certainly. But it’s quite safe. Come along now, I don’t have all day.”

Quaxo jumped up onto the sill, paws skidding a bit on the dirty wood, and slipped inside. The inside smelled even worse, and Quaxo now realised that this was also why the ginger cat’s fur was so dusty and dirty - if he lived in a house covered in soot and grime, it must certainly be a task to keep himself clean. Quaxo resolved to keep himself looking tidy. If his mother found out that he’d let himself go while he’d been away from her, she’d surely be disappointed.

“Sir,” he said, “May I ask you one more question?”

“You may,” said the cat, although he sounded as if his patience was running thin. Quaxo could feel that he was not the kind of cat that would be particularly kind if he lost his temper, so he hoped that the ginger cat gave him an answer that was satisfactory, and that he wouldn’t have the need to ask further questions.

“You said in the alleyway that you were going to teach me magic. But how do you know that I’ll be able to do any?”

The cat, halfway through another door, stopped, and Quaxo hurriedly swerved in order to not run into him. There was a moment of silence as the cat turned around, and then Quaxo rather wished he’d not asked the question at all, as he’d forgotten what it was like to have the full attention of the large tom fixed on him.

“Do you not know?” said the tom. “Do you not understand? You already hold the power.”   
  
“What power?” said Quaxo, anxiously backing away. “I  _ don’t _ understand-”   
  
“You can do things, boy. Make things float. Make things disappear, perhaps. Throw your voice, make shadows move, fit through gaps you shouldn’t be able to. Any of this sounding familiar?”

As he spoke the cat seemed to grow larger and larger, and Quaxo couldn’t help but flatten himself to the floor and half-roll to expose his side and belly, instinctually displaying submission.

“I-” he managed, feeling as though somehow the very air itself was pressing against him, choking him, “I can- I have made things float, things move-”

Suddenly the air was thin again, and the ginger cat was walking through the door as if nothing had happened. Quaxo took in several gulps of air before he attempted to stand.

“Good,” said the cat from the other room. “I had thought for a moment that I had mistaken, for a moment, what I saw in the alleyway. That it had been merely a strong gust of wind to move that rubbish, and not your latent talents. It is well that I was correct.”

His voice was getting quieter, and although Quaxo wanted nothing more than to lie down and rest, he forced himself to go through the door. Inside was quite a small room, with a dirty, sooty rug covering most of the floor. There was only a small, high window on one corner, and over to one side was a wooden structure that took up most of the wall. Upon it sat the ginger tom.

“This is where you will stay,” said the tom. “And do not misunderstand me; I mean for you to stay inside, at all times. The area outside is no place for a kitten such as yourself.”

“I’m not to go outside at all?” said Quaxo, heart sinking. “But what if I need to- to make water?”

The tom sneered at him, and pointed. Off to one side was a little grate, and when Quaxo sniffed at it, he could smell fresh air and grass, although he could see nothing.

“You can use that,” said the cat. “The outside is dangerous. Other cats do not look kindly on those such as we.”

“Sir?” said Quaxo, blankly. 

“Magical cats, boy. There are those out there who would harm you, merely for the talents you possess. That is why I have brought you here, and why you must stay inside.”

Quaxo’s hindlegs failed him, and he sat rather abruptly. 

“They would hurt me because I can make things float?”   
  
“They would hurt you because you are different,” said the ginger cat, getting up and pacing along the strange wooden half-box, “they are foolish and know only how to follow orders from their leader, who would resent you, and cast you out, fearful of your power!”

As the cat spoke, he paced faster, and the air once again grew heavy. Quaxo watched, cowering, as a heavy glass ball on near the cat seemed to lift up as the tom’s speech grew more impassioned, and when he finished with a shout, the ball flew across the room and shattered against the wall, exploding into shards of glass and a puff of plaster and rotten wood.

Silence fell. The cat’s sides were heaving, as though he had exerted himself greatly, and Quaxo thought that he could also see a slight tremor in his limbs. Then, quite out of nowhere, the cat twisted and washed his hind leg, two or three quick licks, as if to say that he recognised that he’d overreacted a little and that it was all behind him now. Quaxo wasn’t quite sure he believed it, but his heartbeat slowed a little.

The cat jumped down and made for the door as if to leave. Quaxo rallied himself.

“Sir?”

“What,” said the cat, flatly. 

“What am I to do here? And what should I call you, sir?”

The cat barely stopped.

“Do whatever you will. Practise your magic. Whatever you want, except leave this room. I will know.”

The long ginger tail slid through the door and the cat was out of sight. Quaxo sighed and closed his eyes, then flinched as one last thing came through the door.

“You will continue to call me sir. But my name- is Macavity.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Quaxo woke cold. Despite his best efforts, his bed was still lacking a lot when it came to any kind of comfort. He’d managed to fold back one corner of the rug, so at least he had two layers under him when he bedded down, and the underside of the rug was actually cleaner than the top, so he felt at least as though he wasn’t as grimy as he could be. Still, he wished he had someone to help groom him. He glanced up at the window, watching motes of dust swirl in the sunlight.

Perhaps his mother and sister had gotten away from the humans, he thought. Perhaps they were looking for him. Would they find him here? Surely not; he’d run for what felt like a mile before Macavity had found him, and then they’d walked even further to get to the burned-down house.

Even thinking about how far he’d come made his paws ache all over again, and he licked at them, hoping that he’d not done them too much damage, then decided he might as well groom himself entirely, or at least as best he could. The whole exercise took about twenty minutes, by which point he was entirely awake and beginning to realise just how hungry he was. Usually he would have eaten at some point early in the morning, just after the human had put the food out in the little red bowl that sat at the back of the garden. Now he would have to hunt for himself.

“But how?” he said to himself. “Macavity has left me no food, and I can’t leave this room to hunt. So how am I to eat?”

He stretched, pinprick claws catching in the carpet, and turned in a circle. After a moment, he went to the far side of the room, to the corner, and said, “If I am to know what I can do here, I must know what this room has. Therefore I must look around it.”

The silence that followed was perhaps to be expected, as he was the only one there, but he had nevertheless hoped that someone would reply. Nevertheless, he took up the task, padding around the skirting-boards. Almost immediately, he found the smell of mouse, but it was quite old, and he dismissed it. A little further along, he recoiled at the faded smell of canine urine; the family who had lived in the house must have had a dog, and not a particularly well-housetrained one. Wrinkling his nose, he moved on, finding nothing more than the smell of a house nothing had lived in for quite some time. 

Once he’d searched the floor, he jumped up onto the odd wooden structure that sat against the wall, finding it mostly covered in paper, with a few books here and there. He pawed at one of them, which was soaked through. He supposed that when the fire had come, the humans had tried to put it out, although they didn’t seem to have been very successful. By pawing at it, eventually he managed to scrape enough soot off the cover to read the title. (Of course he knew how to read, as his mother had taught him. Many cats can read, although whether they choose to put it to use is another matter.)

 **_The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus_** , the title read. He clawed at the cover, almost tipping the slim volume over, then managed finally to get a paw in between some of the pages to see what it said. Unfortunately most of the text was illegible, quite waterlogged, and what was there was strange to him. He tilted his head, and read:

_[Re-enter [MEPHISTOPHELES] with Devils, giving crowns and rich apparel to FAUSTUS, dance, and depart]_

Faust: _Speak Mephistopheles, what means this show?_ _  
_ Meph: _Nothing, Faustus, but to delight thy mind withal;  
_ _And to show thee what magic can perform._ _  
_ Faust: _But may I raise up spirits when I please?_ _  
_ Meph: _Ay, Faustus, and do greater things than these._ _  
_ Faust: _Then there’s enough for a thousand souls.  
_ _Here, Mephistopheles, receive this scroll  
_ _A deed of gift of body and of soul:  
_ _But yet conditionally that thou perform  
_ _All articles prescrib’d between us both._  
Meph: _Faustus, I swear by hell and Lucifer  
_ _To effect all promises between us made._

“How odd,” murmured Quaxo, attempting and failing to turn the page, waterlogged paper tearing beyond repair. “Humans write about magic also? This Mephistopheles seems to be a true magician, and some kind of spirit moreover; perhaps Macavity will be able to teach me tricks like his. Then I too will be able to delight others, and show them all kinds of magical things.”

He paused, and reread it.

“Why,” he said, suddenly realising, “this must be what Macavity means me to do! No doubt he left me this book here, knowing I would read it and realise that he meant for me to use magic to get my food.” 

And so saying, Quaxo turned away from the book and sat neatly upright, tail curled around his paws, closed his eyes, and thought of mice.


	5. Chapter 5

Of course, thinking of mice was far easier than conjuring them. Quaxo spent twenty minutes with his eyes screwed shut, tail-tip flicking madly back and forth as he attempted to conjure a mouse out of nothingness, and all he got for it was a headache. Sighing, he jumped down onto the carpet and turned in a circle, murmuring to himself.

“How does one conjure a mouse? Is it even possible? Surely it must be so. If I can magic myself onto a wall then I must be able to magic myself a mouse, unless I only imagined what happened in the garden. Oh, the garden, how I wish I was there! And mama, and Gwen too, how cruel those humans are to have taken them away. Oh, if Macavity had been there that night, this would never have happened. He’d have stopped those humans, undoubtedly so! Once I am grown a little more, and can do more magic, I’m sure I’ll be able to conjure them up from where they are. Right out from under those humans horrid hands!”

As he said this, words tumbling out of him in a stream, faster and faster, so he turned faster and faster, as if he was locked into the spiral, now more like a pirouette. He was turning so fast that his tail-tip was entirely in his face, the room was spinning wildly, and he felt- he felt- 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, falling out of the set of tight, neat turns and ending up with his limbs all in a muddle. His fur had begun to spark wildly, and his chest felt like it was full of light, as though if he opened his mouth the sun might shine out. He shook himself wildly, bumping into the wall in his confusion, panting from the exertion and wobbly with dizziness. He sat down heavily onto the rug, trying to calm himself.

“Now I wonder what could have caused this?” he said, once his vision had settled. He looked down at his chest, marvelling at the sparkling lights that seemed to have settled in his fur, like the lights humans put on the tree in winter. “My magic has never done this before. How pretty. And I feel all… floaty inside. Like I’m full of the sky.”

He reached out, curious, and gestured with a paw, a little clawing motion, and sure enough there was a little pop and crackle from across the room. He darted over and found no evidence of what had happened other than a slight smell of ozone.    


“My magic is so much more powerful,” he wondered. “Just from that? From spinning? From turning in a circle?”

There was no answer, and he suddenly felt the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He wished he had someone there to share his discovery with, and even ran to the door to call out, but Macavity wasn’t there. 

“I wonder,” he said, pulling his head back in through the gap, “if I could conjure a mouse now?”

But no matter how much he tried, nothing happened. 

“Perhaps I’m going about this the wrong way,” he said. “Let’s be logical, Quaxo. How would one conjure a mouse?”

He sat down once more, although the odd light feeling in him made him want to keep moving somehow, to pad around and jump and sway. He felt, however, that he ought to sit. It felt more proper that way.

“First, I suppose I should consider.. What a mouse is? No, that’s silly. How the magic works? No, that’s impossible, I have no idea where to begin on that. Or perhaps I should think of.. where the mouse comes from? Oh, how utterly stupid of me! Of course!” 

He couldn’t keep still any longer, and got up to pace.

“I even said it myself earlier: I would conjure up mama from where she is, if I could. From where she is! I would have to know where she was before I could do that. But I know where mice are. If I think about where a mouse should be, then I can try to move it from there, to here!”

He paused in his pacing and thought of the little chink in the stone wall on the other side of the garden from where he and his little family had lived. Inside, more often than not, were mice, and once, a rat. They came there, his mother said, because it was close to the humans house, and from that place they could get inside the house and steal food.

Quaxo imagined the little mouse family, all fat on the human’s grains and vegetables. His magic seemed to crouch, as a cat does when it’s getting ready to pounce; he imagined how the mouse would look, how it would smell, how it would taste, and with that he unleashed himself, magic spilling out, hot like sunlight, the smell of ozone-

From in front of him, there was a squeak. Quaxo opened his eyes and leapt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short chapter! I'm trying to get them out asap. to the commenters: don't worry, we'll find out what happened to quaxo's mother and sister eventually ;) thank you so much for the warm reception to this fic! I'm having fun writing it :3c
> 
> (i made a mistake in this chapter earlier but its fixed now. if you're wondering who Gwen is, remember the naming of cats...)


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t until quite late in the afternoon that Quaxo heard movement outside his little room. He sat up from where he’d been dozing, ears flicking slightly at the noise of a cat brushing past the wooden panel that covered the window in the hall. He got up, taking a few steps towards the door, then froze.

 _There are those out there who would harm you_ , Macavity had said. What if it was another cat? Quaxo stood still for a moment, then darted to hide in the shadowy area under the wooden half-box. If it was indeed another cat, then hopefully he could make a break for it without being seen

The dust and grime was thicker here, and he wrinkled his nose as his soft fur was stained. It would be hard to groom it out later, and as far as he knew there was no magic spell for that - although perhaps he could invent one.

Quaxo held his breath as the shadow of a cat breached the door, then a pair of gingery paws. Macavity entered the room with his head held low, something clutched in his jaws that was revealed, when he dropped it, to be half a mouse. 

“Boy,” he growled. “You had better be in here.”

Quaxo once again felt that odd pressure building, his heart rate increasing dramatically. Was this some kind of magic that Macavity possessed? He crept out of his hiding place, low to the ground, not meeting the other cat’s eyes. Slowly the pressure decreased, but Quaxo still felt as though Macavity was displeased with him.

“You would hide yourself away?” he sneered. “You are afraid of me, then?”

“I thought,” said Quaxo, wishing that he was just a little bit bigger, “that you might be someone else; you did say that there were cats out there who would want to hurt me.”

“Ah, yes,” said Macavity. “There are indeed others.”

Quaxo’s ears were flat against his head, but Macavity didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable he was; or if he did, he didn’t care. He kicked the half-mouse at Quaxo’s feet.

“Eat.”

“I’m- I’m not hungry, sir,” said Quaxo, quietly, then flinched as Macavity turned sharply upon him.

“Not hungry? You’ve been in here a day with no food, and unless you left this room to hunt, which you had better not, then you will be hungry. So _eat._ Do not make me tell you again.”

There was a pause, as Quaxo gathered himself. 

“I- I conjured a mouse, sir-”

Macavity had turned away from him, but at this he turned back once again. Quaxo hurried to explain.

“I found the book- up there, on that wooden thing. And I thought perhaps you had left it for me to learn from? The spirit there says that magic can do many things. I thought you meant for me to make use of my powers in order to eat..?”

Macavity glanced up at where Quaxo had gestured, then jumped up to examine the book. Quaxo followed, slightly less graceful than usual thanks to the adrenaline rushing through him, and watched as Macavity gazed down at the book.

“Mephistopheles says that magic can do great things,” said Quaxo, hopefully. Macavity made a noise that seemed almost like acknowledgement, still looking at the text. After a minute, during which time Quaxo began to fidget slightly, he looked up.

“Show me,” he said.

Excitement blooming in his chest, Quaxo jumped back down onto the rug and shut his eyes. There was a thud as Macavity landed next to him, and from there he heard the cat say, “Are you unable to make the conjuration from up on the desk?”

Quaxo opened one eye. 

“The desk? Oh, the wooden thing? I just thought that I might need more room,” he said, hoping that was enough explanation. Macavity made another little rumbling noise, but didn’t object further. Quaxo closed his eyes again and hoped that his magic wouldn’t desert him. He no longer had glowing fur, but he still felt an echo of that odd buoyant feeling he’d had when he’d finished turning. Previously he’d conjured enough mice that he’d been able to eat two and play with four more, and every time he’d done it, he’d been able to refine the process.

He reached with his magic, feeling out into the world for something that ‘felt’ like a mouse. He’d discovered that everything had a shape when he used his magic. Every living thing had a different sensation when he brushed over it, and mice had a particularly tantalizing one, small and darting, bright with fear in the way that all small prey animals were. His senses spread out and down, and immediately he felt a mouse sitting just underneath the floorboards- probably one of the ones that he’d played with and let go. He grasped at it, letting his magic flood its tiny body, then ‘moved’ it in front of him. 

There was no better way to put it, and he dreaded having Macavity ask him to explain it. It was less a physical movement, and more that he simply knew it was in one place - and then it was in another, smoothly and suddenly, with no need to have it anywhere in-between. He opened his eyes and watched as the mouse ran in a circle, quite terrified. 

“Interesting,” said Macavity. He pounced on it and broke its neck, then dropped it. “Did your mother teach you how to do this?”

Quaxo shook his head.

“No, sir. She said she didn’t have the same talent as me. I only ever knew I could make things float before, and sometimes make sparks. Today was the first time I ever made something appear.”

That was not quite true, he thought. He had made himself appear, and disappear, but he desperately did not want Macavity to know this, as he was quite certain he would not be able to perform that particular feat ever again. He’d tried earlier, after his breakfast, and it had not gone at all well.

“Well,” said Macavity. “You seem to be less of a waste of my time and my energy than I had previously thought. I might even go so far as to say you are talented.”

Quaxo felt the tight feeling in his chest ease slightly. Macavity was frightening, certainly, but he was the first adult tom that Quaxo had ever spoken to at length. Having his approval was somehow heartening.

“Do you think that I would be able to transport a cat with my magic, sir?”

Macavity scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You'd have to have an inordinate amount of power.”

Quaxo swallowed.

“If- if you had been there, sir, when the humans came to my garden. You would have been able to do something, wouldn’t you, sir?”

The ginger cat looked at him inscrutably.

“Of course. I am the most powerful magical cat in London, boy. I would have been able to do something. Now, tell me how you conjured that mouse. I wish to see how your methods differ from mine.”

Quaxo nodded, hoping that he would be able to make enough sense that Macavity would understand, and began to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quaxo please pay attention to macavity's phrasing. quaxo. please. QUAXO
> 
> ANYWAY trivia time Quaxo means "I croak like a frog" in Latin so i hc that when he was born he had a super croaky meow and that's how his mother gave him his Particular Name. His Everyday Name is used less often because she liked his particular name so much, but i've chosen to hc that it's Lonán, which is gaelic for Little Blackbird. she called him that because although he started out croaky, eventually he was able to sing quite sweetly, although he remained quite small <3


End file.
